A Body at Book Club (Myrtle Clover Mysteries) (6 page)

Lena’s intelligent brown eyes softened a bit at the mention of Pasha. “I’m so sorry to hear that, Mrs. Clover. Of course, I’ll keep looking for her. But I wouldn’t worry too much about Pasha, although I know it’s tough not to. She’s a survivor.”

Something in Lena’s expression made Myrtle say, “You are too, aren’t you? I know you’ve had a rough time yourself lately.”

Lena stiffened. “I wouldn’t say
lately
, Mrs. Clover. Things are going well at the office. And I do have friends. But yes, it was very hard when I lost Billy a couple of years ago. You’re a widow yourself, so I’m sure you understand.”

Myrtle nodded sagely, although she’d been widowed about thirty years ago and the memories had faded quite a bit. “Miles is, too.” Miles blinked at her and she corrected, “Rather, Miles is a widow
er
.”

Miles gave an uncomfortable smile and cleared his throat. “It doesn’t really get any easier, does it?” 

It was the kind of thing you say when you’re not really sure what to say and you simply want to fill an awkward pause. But it clearly created a reaction from Lena.

Lena blinked hard and turned away slightly to quickly swipe at her eyes. She said gruffly, “That’s the truth. Especially when it’s such a pointless death. There was no reason for Billy to have died that day.”

Myrtle said slowly, “Lena, remind me again? I’m so sorry—my memory isn’t what it should be these days—but was it something to do with his doing a favor for a friend?”

“Some friend!” Lena said with a snort. “Naomi Pelter, you mean? If she’d been a true friend, she’d never have asked Billy to get up on her roof. She was supposed to have some money of her own…she should have paid someone to clean her gutters, like everyone else does. But the silly fool was taken in by her batting eyelashes and next thing you know, he was a goner. He never did have a great sense of balance,” she ended with a laugh that sounded closer to a sob.

Miles gave Myrtle a desperate glance. He was never fond of emotional scenes. When Myrtle had gotten him hooked on her soap opera (something he had made her promise never to mention to others), she’d noticed that he peeked out between his fingers whenever there were tear-jerking scenes.

Lena, though, seemed much too strong to fully break down, especially in front of visitors to her office. She quickly regained control. “As you mentioned, it takes a while to recover from the death of a spouse.”

Myrtle worried they were about to be dismissed and hurried on, “So true. And a sudden death only makes it worse, don’t you think? Like Naomi’s death at book club. Shocking!”

Lena frowned at Myrtle. “Well, clearly, I’m not too broken up at Naomi’s sudden death, Mrs. Clover. I didn’t wish her harm, per se, but I’m not going to fake grief either. It did appear to be an unpleasant death. I’m assuming she became dehydrated and that that was a major contributing factor to her demise.”

“Actually, Red just told me that it wasn’t a mere stomach bug that she had,” said Myrtle, carefully studying Lena. “It was murder.”

Lena’s expression was guarded again. “He’s sure about that? Well,” she looked away from them. “I didn’t like the woman, but as I mentioned, I didn’t wish her any harm.”

Miles said, “I’m sure you weren’t the only one in town who didn’t care for Naomi.”

Myrtle added, “There were quite a few, I think. At least that was the impression I got at book club.”

Lena nodded, absently smoothing down a stray lock of hair. “There were. Our book club hostess, for one. She was blasting Naomi every chance she got. Rose was furious at Naomi for cutting down all those trees and bushes.”

Myrtle murmured, “And someone was telling me something about Maxine Tristan, I think. Although I don’t exactly know what she was alluding to.”

Lena rolled her eyes. “Well, I think it has to do with the fact that Maxine saw Naomi as competition. But I wouldn’t want to gossip.” She looked down pointedly at her watch, although there wasn’t anyone waiting.

Myrtle ignored the fact that Lena was trying to get rid of her. Sometimes people thought older folks were clueless about social cues. She’d just allow Lena to believe that for a moment. “Red is trying to track down who might have been around Naomi in the days prior to her death,” she said. Well, she was sure he
was
, even if he hadn’t shared that tidbit with her. “Did you see Naomi recently?”

“If I had, I’d have glanced away and kept walking,” said Lena dryly. “Besides, I was out of town at the other times I’d have normally seen Naomi. I’d missed the garden club meeting last month, and, although I made the annual luncheon, I was seated far away from Naomi.”

“I see,” said Myrtle. She paused for effect, but the only effect appeared to be the fact that Lena looked impatient. “Do the words
Destroying Angel
mean anything to you?”

Lena frowned. “That’s a poisonous plant of some kind, isn’t it?”

“That’s right—a mushroom,” said Myrtle.

Lena nodded. “I have heard about it.
Destroying Angel
has been known to kill dogs before, as I recall…that’s why I know about it.  The mushrooms can grow on tree roots and dogs eat them and the ingestion is always fatal. I do know a bit about poisonous plants because pets sometimes eat things that they shouldn’t.” She narrowed her eyes. “Are you saying that’s what killed Naomi? A mushroom?”

“I believe that her cause of death is likely still under investigation,” said Myrtle a bit cagily. Miles gave her a worried look. All they needed was for word to get back to Red that Myrtle was questioning suspects about mushrooms. This time, Myrtle was the one who was impatient to leave.

Chapter Six

That night, Myrtle set out more canned cat food in the backyard. She was sleepy enough to fall asleep straight away, but by two o’clock, she was staring at the ceiling, completely awake. What was there that was so familiar about mushrooms? Why the odd sense of déjà vu?

Her eyes opened wide. She knew exactly where she’d heard it before. She shoved herself out of the bed, stuck her feet into a pair of tennis shoes, and threw on her robe. Surely Miles was awake tonight. After such a stimulating day, who could sleep?

She was right. Miles’s lights were on. She hurried up his walkway and rapped on his door. Miles, dressed in plaid pajamas under a navy bathrobe, opened the door right away as if he’d been expecting her. “Hi, Myrtle,” he said calmly.

“Hi, Miles.”

Miles led the way to his kitchen where he already had two cups and saucers out and a coffeepot carafe sitting on a trivet on the kitchen table. He was already pouring exactly the right amount of half-and-half in her cup and putting in a loaded teaspoon of sugar before pouring coffee on top, stirring, and passing it wordlessly her way.

Myrtle took a couple of sips and nodded in approval, waiting as Miles fixed his own cup. “Got any cookies?” she asked, glancing around his kitchen.

He reached for a plate that was hiding behind the coffeepot. Myrtle took a chocolate chip cookie. She raised her eyebrows. “Homemade?”

Miles shook his head. “Just like homemade according to the package. Homemade by somebody, I guess.”

Myrtle nodded. She said, “Miles, I made a discovery.”

“I rather thought you might. You seemed deep in thought on the way back from the vet.”

“I’d heard from Rose that the latest garden club meeting featured a speaker from the county extension office who talked, among other things, about poisonous mushrooms!” Myrtle sat back in the chair and beamed at Miles.

Miles seemed slow to take this news in. “So, do you think that Rose is responsible…?”

“No, no. At least—well, she might be. She was at the garden club meeting, after all. But so were other suspects in this case. Claudia is a garden club member; Maxine goes to garden club …”

“Aren’t you a garden club member?” asked Miles, wrinkling his forehead.

“Officially, I’m on the roster,” said Myrtle with a shrug. “I’ll go if there’s nothing else to do. Although I’ve gotten rather discouraged with my situation and haven’t felt like hearing all the wonderful things I could do with my yard.”

“What’s your situation?”

“Erma Sherman and her crabgrass. I’m in the trenches, fighting a war with crabgrass, and can’t devote any of my time to frippery like impatiens or gardenias,” said Myrtle.

“But you weren’t at
that
meeting,” said Miles. “So you don’t know exactly what took place.”

“No, I’ll have to ask people about it. You see, there were a couple of meetings that I missed. One was the regular meeting with the speaker from the extension office. The other was the annual luncheon. So the murderer could have found out about
Destroying Angel
mushrooms at the meeting and then had the opportunity to poison Naomi with them at the luncheon. And it makes me very irritated that I didn’t make it to either one,” said Myrtle, now feeling grouchy.

Miles took a sip of his coffee. “Lena Fowler wouldn’t have been at that garden club meeting though, right? She’d mentioned being out of town.”

“She did,” said Myrtle. “But she also told us that she was familiar with
Destroying Angel
mushrooms because of her research into poisons that affect family pets. Remember? So this is something she could have come up with on her own without having attended garden club.”

“Doesn’t that seem like a coincidence though?” asked Miles. “That she would happen on that very method of poisoning Naomi, right after the garden club meeting that mentioned it?”

“That’s what makes it the perfect poison, though. By using
Destroying Angel
mushrooms, Lena could make it appear as though the garden club members might be responsible…and, conveniently, she was out of town for that meeting,” said Myrtle. “Maybe she even heard a garden club member chatting about the meeting at her clinic and realized that would be the best way to finally get rid of Naomi. Or maybe she read the minutes from the last meeting—they’re always listed online.”

“She certainly still seemed to carry a grudge,” said Miles thoughtfully. “It’s something to consider, for sure. Do you think Red has already heard that that was a topic at the meeting?”

“I hope not. That gives me some time to question some of those women before he catches on. As far as he knows, I’m just trying to interact with them because of garden club business.” She finished her coffee and pushed it away so that she could lean her elbows on the table. “Could you drive me somewhere tomorrow?”

Miles was cautious. “Where?”

“Just somewhere too far for me to drive. I have an errand,” said Myrtle carelessly. Miles wouldn’t want to drive her if he knew where she was going.

“You’re not going to that psychic’s house, are you?” he asked suspiciously.

Myrtle blinked at him. “Are you psychic yourself? Maybe it runs in the family.” She hid a smile. Miles had been shocked to discover that the local psychic Wanda and her brother Crazy Dan were cousins of his. Shocked and discouraged.

“Why do you want to go see that old charlatan?” asked Miles with a groan. “She spends her days cheating the gullible out of their hard-earned cash.”

“You’re simply still reeling from the fact that you’re cousins,” said Myrtle with a sniff. “If you don’t want to go over there, just let me borrow the car. Wanda may be rough around the edges, but she has great insight and intuition.” She gave a little shiver. Sometimes Wanda was spookily on target.

“Rough around the edges? Wanda is rough all over. I think you’re fascinated with her because she keeps giving you these dire prophesies. You’re like a deer in the headlights,” said Miles.

“Like I said, if you don’t want to go, just let me borrow your Volvo. Come on, Miles—what are friends for?” She gave him a pleading look.

“All right,” said Miles in a grouchy tone. “I suppose we can go tomorrow afternoon. I’m going to bring my hand sanitizer, though. Crazy Dan and Wanda’s home could use some spring-cleaning. Summer, fall, and winter-cleaning, too.”

Myrtle was already on another topic. “Could you look up
Destroying Angel
on your computer? I still don’t have a great grasp on how that stuff works.”

Miles pushed his chair back and went off to get his laptop. He signed in, pulled up a search engine, and typed in the name of the mushroom. He squinted at the screen. “No information.”

“That doesn’t sound right.” Myrtle got up and walked over to look over Miles’s shoulder. “It’s apparently a serious poison. There should be tons of information on it.” She leaned over far enough so that she nearly lost her balance and toppled over on him. Miles helped her regain her balance and she leaned back on her cane for support. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. Miles, you put in Destroying
Angle
, not Angel.”

“No wonder,” muttered Miles.

“Destroying Angle—the scourge of Geometry!” Myrtle grinned.

“All right, all right,” said Miles, even more grouchy. He quickly corrected the search term and the screen pulled up white, leggy mushrooms in what was apparently a variety of different maturity levels for the fungus. “It’s actually a fairly attractive thing, isn’t it?”

“Especially considering how deadly it is,” said Myrtle. She skimmed the page. “It looks like a victim doesn’t immediately get sick. It might be five or even twelve hours after ingestion.”

“Ugh,” said Miles. “And after a while, the symptoms stop for a while and the victim might think he’s getting better and skip seeking help.”

“Which is a mistake,” said Myrtle. She gave a low whistle. “The symptoms start getting worse again and at that point it’s too late.”

Miles ran his finger along the text. “Kidney failure. Liver failure. Awful.”

They stared silently at the screen. “Not a nice way to go,” said Myrtle quietly.

“I wonder if the person from the extension service explained how the poison worked,” said Miles. “Somebody must have been really upset with Naomi to have done this.”

When Myrtle finally headed back home, she was ecstatic to discover that the food she’d set out for Pasha was gone. She stooped down, looking under bushes in her dark yard and calling out softly to the cat. Then she spotted a neighor’s cat, Chubbster, grooming himself near the fence. “Chubbster!” she spat out furiously.

She saw lights turn on at the neighbor’s house and then heard the woman’s voice croaking out, calling the cat. Chubbster gave Myrtle a baleful look and waddled off to the house. Erma shut the door firmly behind him and Myrtle heard the sound of the bolt sliding into place. This was…infuriating. She was feeding a cat she didn’t like who belonged to a person she didn’t like. Which reminded her—she really didn’t care for several of her neighbors. A person whose crabgrass was creeping over into her yard inch-by-inch.

Like an avenging angel, Myrtle stormed into her house, reached under her kitchen sink, and pulled out a large container of homemade weed killer. Since she lived on the lake, she was always mindful of runoff of the poisons into the water and had determined to use safe, organic products. Not only that…well, it was a lot cheaper than buying the commercial weed-killers. This one worked like a charm and comprised a gallon of apple cider vinegar, a half-cup of table salt, and a teaspoon of dishwashing detergent. The only problem was lugging the thing around, so she’d distributed it into smaller spray bottles after mixing the stuff up.

Myrtle hurried back outside with the spray bottle and set it down beside the fence. She was glad to be six feet tall sometimes, although it had felt like a curse when she’d been young. She couldn’t really
see
what she was spraying, but it didn’t matter since Erma’s yard was consumed by crabgrass. She pumped the spray bottle and covered as much area as she could reach from her position. That was as good as she could do, considering it was the middle of the night. Then she put out some more food for Pasha and finally turned into bed.

The next morning, as Myrtle walked out to get her newspaper, she noticed that Erma’s yard smelled like a salad. She smiled to herself. Perhaps, if Erma left the house later, she might find the opportunity to destroy the rest of the weeds in her yard. Erma was such a poor garden club member that she might accept that it was some sort of odd blight.

After eating a grapefruit and some toasted oat cereal, Myrtle planned out her day. She had the trip to see Wanda this afternoon with Miles. But what should she do this morning? She thought about it. It seemed to her that all roads appeared to lead to Rose. Rose was the one with the grudge against Naomi. Naomi’s body was discovered at Rose’s house. Rose was at the garden club meeting that mentioned Destroying Angle…and at the luncheon where she could have given it to Naomi. Red’s warning voice popped into her brain, unbidden. Myrtle grabbed a Pasha flyer and her cane and pushed open her front door—right into Miles.

“Sorry,” said Myrtle. She frowned at Miles. “We weren’t going to see Wanda this morning were we? I thought we’d arranged it for the afternoon.”

“You’re right,” said Miles quickly. “I just thought I’d accompany you to your next suspect interview. For…support.”

Myrtle gave him a suspicious look. “Support.” She glanced across the street and caught sight of Red giving Miles a rather jaunty wave. Why did she have the feeling that Red had called Miles and asked him to provide
literal
support for Myrtle? Irritating. Especially today when she was
particularly
steady. She had half a mind to fuss at Miles about it—except she didn’t have any proof. Besides, she did want her sidekick to come along with her. Sometimes he caught things that escaped Myrtle’s attention. “All right,” she said a bit ungraciously. “Here, you can hold the flyer. That will be our excuse for going there.”

“To Rose’s house?” asked Miles. “She’s your prime suspect right now, right?”

“Currently,” said Myrtle. “Although that’s always subject to change.”

Rose was, as expected, not particularly pleased to see them. “Oh, hello,” she said. She homed in immediately on the flyer. “Is this for me?” she asked. She took the flyer out of Miles’s hand without being offered it. Her hooded eyes glanced over the flyer. “Missing cat. Oh. That’s the animal you were talking about earlier, isn’t it?” she asked Myrtle, her willowy frame standing ramrod straight.